the candle I lit to pray for your life. The plane. The ghost of the pilot. The air. Anointing
the dying flame with the juice of the sourest lemon, I doubly curse
the boss who sent you to Beijing. The TV camera
that captured my tears. With my sharpest needle, stabbing
the anointed flame, I triply curse
the one who should have gone before you. I beg, Please Lord, stop
my empty heart.